Regrets Not Mine

"This is the Los Angeles County Coroner's Office. Am I speaking to Sam Howard?"

The woman's voice certainly sounded official enough. Only problem, though, is I didn't know anyone in Los Angeles County.

"Yeah... yes. I-I-I'm Sam Howard," I stuttered, totally confused. "What do you want with me?"

The woman introduced herself as Assistant Coroner Lori Vandenburg.

"We have a body here we can't identify, and we were hoping you could help us," she said in that official voice. "The body had no ID on her and her fingerprints aren't on file in any database that we can find, but she had a letter stamped and addressed to you at a previous address. We were able to get a phone number for your parents, and they gave us your current number."

The woman said the body was a she. I guess in the farthest reaches of my brain I knew that there was a slight chance it could be her.

"Her" was an old flame... fiancée to be exact. Nine years ago, Traci Jernigan was on course to be Mrs. Sam Howard. Four months before the wedding, however, the course of both of our lives changed when Traci ran off to Los Angeles with my then-best friend, Ray Hall. To say I was devastated didn't even begin to explain the carnage that became my life.

"We can't open the letter, which has no return address, and we don't think a photo of the remains will help, although we will email one to you if you would like. But we would gladly fly you out here and give you the letter with proper ID, and maybe that would help us get her an ID."

I agreed to have her email me a photo first. Not a clue as to whom I was looking at, so I accepted the plane ticket to LA for the next day.

My boss agreed to give me the day off. My wife, however, was a touch less sanguine about the whole situation.

"Why you?" Jackie said. "That was a long time ago. Couldn't they track down her parents?"

I was surprised that my wife was so irritated with the coroner's request. She is just about the nicest person anybody could ever meet. She had no beef with Traci. That was over and done with years before I found Jackie.

"I suspect it might be Traci, but they don't really have a clue, so they just can't contact people willy-nilly. They are really hoping the letter will give me the ID," I explained.

Jackie grumbled but then agreed that I needed to go.

"It's the right thing to do, Sammy. I know that. It's just...

"I guess I'm jealous, Hon. She was yours years before we met. But... she

was

yours. If she hadn't screwed up so badly, she would be Mrs. Sam Howard... and I would be..."

I saw the tears in my wife's eyes and knew they were genuine. In her mind, she came within a whisker of missing out on me... and a son and a daughter.

"That's ancient history, Babe. And if it's her, she's no longer competition for anybody."

"I know. And part of me feels bad for her parents, if that is her," Jackie said.

I took a redeye from Charlotte Douglas International Airport in Charlotte, NC, to Los Angeles International. The flight went quickly, as my mind was a virtual "Wayback Machine."

Traci and I were both juniors when we met at the University of North Carolina. I was an accounting major. She was a theater major. We couldn't have been from worlds further apart.

I'll admit I'm probably a boring guy. Both of my parents are teachers. My sister is a police officer. Accounting is not exactly a flamboyant field, either.

Theater majors are in their own world. They act goofy. They dress weirdly. They don't communicate well to the rest of the campus, let alone the business majors like me.

It was a complete freak that we met. I was in the library trying to find a book on economist John Maynard Keynes. To this day, I have no idea what Traci was doing there. I'm not sure she even knew why she was there. Regardless, I came around an aisle and almost literally walked right over the top of this 5-2 pixie with long straight raven hair, bright blue eyes and curves galore. I felt terrible, apologized profusely and literally lifted her off the floor with both hands.

I just didn't see the sprite. I towered her by a foot and doubled the approximate 100 pounds I guess she weighed. She didn't look happy when I picked her up and set her back down on her feet like a toddler, but nothing came out of her mouth when she tried to speak. I barely croaked out an apology. I was in love. Well, probably lust, to be truthful, but it was something. For her, though, it was probably nothing, because once I set her down and she gave me a look, she was gone.

I didn't see her again for two weeks. Several of the upper-level theater arts majors were performing scenes outside of the student union one sunny afternoon, and while I normally would have walked right on by, I spotted my little pixie and stopped to watch.

The troupe performed for about another 10 minutes before finishing. I didn't waste any time approaching her and asking her if she would like to grab a coffee. To this day, I'm not sure why she accepted.

We were practically joined at the hip after that and set a wedding date for eight months after we graduated. I already had a job at an accounting firm in Charlotte, and Traci wound up getting a job in the theater department at UNC-Charlotte.

Ray Hall lived a couple of doors down from the apartment I rented at UNC. He was also a business major, with his concentration in finance, but everybody who knew him assumed he was going to go to law school. He was a big guy at 6-4, 230, and had the dark, brooding looks of a Hollywood hunk. He definitely had the aggressive nature of an attorney, but like with Traci, somehow our differences worked for us and Ray and I became best friends.

Through me, Ray and Traci became friends. She was always amazed that Ray had a string of beautiful girls on his arm. He'd date a beauty for a couple of weeks, maybe a month, and then he'd show up at my apartment the next week with a completely different stunner.

"What was wrong with the last one?" Traci would say to Ray when the new girl would go to the restroom.

"Variety is the spice of life, Babe," Ray would respond.

"So by your way of thinking, Sam should have disposed of me months ago?" she would ask.

"No, I wouldn't get rid of you either if I had you," Ray always answered.

Traci would giggle, shake her head and walk away smiling.

Apparently, I was too much of a trusting idiot.

Traci and I usually went out either Friday or Saturday night, and stayed in together on the other night. Very often on those nights she and her mother would be on the phone discussing wedding plans.

Traci had been busting my chops for several weeks to take her to this new hipster bar that just opened in town, and I finally gave in, agreeing to take her the next Friday. I wasn't surprised when she showed up at my apartment dressed to kill, but I was surprised she showed up about 30 minutes early. Traci was NEVER on time, let alone early.

Yup, you guessed it: those famous four words.

"We need to talk."

Basically, she talked and I sat there making small gurgling noises. I found out she had apparently been re-thinking our marriage. She said she wanted to experience more men before she locked herself into one for the rest of her life.

"Wait a minute! You want to fuck more guys before we get married?" I practically screamed.

"Wow. That's kind of harsh, but yeah, that's it basically," she replied. "I want to go out a few more times with other men before the wedding... starting tonight. I have a date with Ray."

"Ray, the friend you always called a sleazeball because he fucks so many different women? You're going to fuck my best friend?"

"He's always said he wanted to fuck me... and he's a great-looking guy. Why shouldn't I start with a friend, rather than finding a stranger?"

I blinked once. I blinked twice. My brain kicked in.

"I suppose it could be worse. You could have hit me with this after we were married..."

"So then you're good with this?" she interrupted.

"Of course not, you stupid bitch! How could anyone with half a brain even think that?

"Traci, here it is. You go out with Ray tonight... or anyone else before we are married, and there won't be a wedding. If you can do this to me now, I don't want to wait around to see what or who you will do when we are married," I said.

"You don't own me! It's my body! I can do what I want!" she shouted at me.

I rose, grabbed her by her arm and escorted her to the apartment door before shoving her onto the stoop.

"You are so right, young lady," I said.

Traci tried to argue, but I closed the door in her face.

I didn't have to check to see if Traci went on her date. I knew she would. Just in case I didn't know, though, Ray--good old Ray, my best old ex-friend Ray--sent me a selfie of Traci and him out at some bar. I threw my phone across the room.

Not having a phone for a couple of days, I didn't speak to Traci, or anyone else for that matter. When I got my new iPhone set up, I had about a dozen messages from my former fiancée, two from her parents and one from my mother.

Traci's texts started out friendly, then concerned, then apologetic and finally angry. I didn't respond to any. What difference did it make? She couldn't unfuck Ray, now could she?

The first message from her parents was concerned, but the second was angry. Cancelling the wedding was going to cost them a bundle. I don't know why, but I kind of expected they might be apologetic for their daughter's actions.

My mom was heartbroken. Traci gave her only half of the story, like she did with her parents, and hoped my mom could get me to relent. When I gave her the rest of the story, she didn't believe me at first. I sent her the photo of Ray and Traci.

I never again talked to Traci. She tried to approach me several times, but I wasn't taking the bait, especially since I had been told by several friends that she had continued to date Ray. After a few weeks, she stopped showing up in front of me. I found out later that she and Ray had moved to Los Angeles.

I would like to say I moved on with my life, but that would have been the biggest lie since the last presidential election. Traci destroyed me, destroyed my confidence and my trust in people, particularly women.

I buried myself in work. I didn't even go on a date for two years. Then Jacquelyn Rivas walked into my life. Actually, she walked in the door at the accounting firm, looking for an accountant to bail her out of a jam with the Internal Revenue Service. I was up, so she got routed to me.

There's an old saying among accountants that says it's just as easy to help a beautiful account as it is to help an ugly account, and I guess it was my turn for some good karma. When I got to the front office, a very good replica of the singer Sade was standing there in a tight, knee-length skirt, completed with a flowing silk blouse and three-inch heels. She even sounded like Sade--if Sade had a Jamaican accent--when she introduced herself.

Thanks in part to the movie "Cool Runnings," a lot of Americans have the impression that Jamaicans are somewhat lazy, party-type people. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth, especially among the old-school families. Jamaicans are hard-working conservative types, with the mother being the backbone of the family. Mom rules with an iron fist, and there's a lot of "Yes ma'am" and "No ma'am."

We set up an appointment for the next week, and I have to admit I couldn't remember the last time I was so excited for a tax appointment.

I wore my absolute best suit on the day of our appointment. Ms. Rivas showed up with a fairly tight black leather skirt that barely reached mid-thigh. Her hot pink blouse was considerably tighter than the blouse she had on last week, revealing a sizable pair of boobs and a small waist. Her hair, done in a tight bun last week, was done in a loose, curly ponytail that went over her shoulders.

I asked for and received Jackie's phone number as our meeting ended. I walked her to the front office and watched her leave the building, then dialed her cell number. I could hear that she hadn't even reached her car when she answered. I knew she wouldn't recognize the number.

"Hello, Jackie. What are you doing after work today?" I asked.

"What took you so long?" she purred in that smooth-as-velvet voice.

Jackie turned out to be seven years older than me, at 30. She had had a couple of long-term relationships, but nothing that approached what I had going with Traci. She was what I would call "stalwart Jamaican," and wasn't going to marry someone she didn't think would go the distance with her. In other words, she was my kind of woman.

Our relationship came together quickly. The only negative vibration came from Jackie's mother. Because of what happened with Traci, she had her doubts that I was the man for her daughter. I had told Jackie about my story with Traci, but I had asked her not to tell her parents. I could see, however, that she had her doubts about my past relationship, so I figured it was time to give her the grisly details. I could see her face as I told her, as her emotions went from disbelief at what I was telling her to anger at Traci for the way she treated me.

"That child's parents should be humiliated. I would turn that girl over on my knee and tan her butt," Jackie's mother said.

I could tell Jackie's mother understood. While I doubted Jackie would ever do to me what Traci had done, I knew that if she did, I could count on her mother to at least get a little retribution for me.

I didn't get Jackie into my bed until our ninth date, but I have to say she was more than worth the wait. When I finally did get her there, I licked virtually every inch of her caramel-colored, smooth-skinned body. I found her collarbones to be very sensitive and had her wriggling and cooing within minutes. I dropped down to her large breasts for a while and then started licking up from her knees toward her pussy.

When I finally got to the promised land with my tongue, Jackie was so worked up that she came within about a minute, trying to buck my head off while she came. I let her recover for about 30 seconds, then restarted my ministrations. When Jackie went from moaning to screaming, I went into overdrive. She wrapped both of her legs around my head on her next orgasm, and for a few seconds there I thought I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen.

My favorite position in the world is cowgirl because not only can I get as deep as possible inside my partner, but it's also prime for playing with her tits, and Jackie has magnificent orbs with which to play. She rode me for 20 minutes before coming again and taking me over the top with her.

I proposed to Jackie a few months later, and this time we actually got to the altar. Two years later our son, Ellery, was born, followed by our daughter, Jada, another two years later. Life has turned out good for me.

*****

A car picked me up at the airport when my flight landed, and we went straight to the coroner's office. Lori Vandenburg took me to the body and handed me the letter. At best, the body could be called decimated. She had apparently been dead for a couple of days before she was found in an LA park.

"It's been a long time, Ms. Vandenburg. Nine years since the last time I have seen her," I said. "She looks... emaciated and old."

"Apparently a bad meth habit will do that to a person," Vandenburg said. "She had meth in her system, her teeth are shot and it looks like she might have been living on the street for a while. Were you two an item at one time?"

"She was my fiancée. We were going to be married in four months before she ended it by dating my former best friend. They came out here together. I wonder what happened to him?"

Vandenburg asked me what his name was. When I told her, she went over to a computer and did some typing.

"Ray Hall's been in prison for six years. Drug charge. Why wouldn't she have gone back home?" Vandenburg queried.

"She never told her family the real reason for our splitting up. I guess it was easier to stay here and keep the lie," I said. "She knew what he was when she hooked up with him. Besides, what does it say for a man who so easily betrays his best friend?"

"Ooh. I'm sorry. But if you're not sure that it's really her, then maybe you should open that letter you've been twirling in your fingers for the last few minutes."

I didn't realize I had been flipping it in my hands. The handwriting on the outside looked like Traci's, but again... nine years. I opened the envelope and read:

"Dear Sam:

"If you think this letter is an apology, you can put that notion to rest now. It's you who owes me the apology. If you had just let me have a few dates before we got married like I asked, everything would have worked out like I said. We could have been starting our family by now. Instead, you shoved me into the waiting arms of your good buddy, Ray Hall, and as we can see, that didn't work out too well for me. Ray was nothing but a hustler. You let me down."

She didn't even bother to sign it, but, yes, I knew it was her letter.

"It's her," was all I could say.

We stood in silence, until I had a thought. I reached for my wallet.

"I-I've got a photo... in the back of my wallet," I whispered. "Been stuck in there for a lifetime."

Like most men, I keep my wallet until it falls apart. I've had my current version for about 12 years. I have six photos back in the plastic photos section. I have to peel the plastics apart to look at them because after all this time they are molded together with the curve of my butt. The last photo, in the last slot that backs up against the cowhide of the wallet, was a photo of Traci and me that has been in there for almost as long as I'd had the wallet.

I peeled the photos apart and found the last spot empty. Some of the cowhide was peeled off, meaning that the photo had to have been peeled out. Although I hadn't looked at that photo in years, I found I was sad that it was gone.

"I guess I don't have it anymore. Sorry," I said.

"That's okay. It wasn't necessary. You've confirmed the ID," the assistant coroner said.

I told Vandenburg that Traci's parents were alive and living in North Carolina. She would have to be the one to tell them, though, because even after all these years, Traci's parents still hadn't forgiven me.

I called Jackie on the ride back to the airport. It was funny, but this was actually the first time that my past life and my current life had intersected. Once I had finally gotten over the pain of my past life and met Jackie, her essence... her being... her presence... had given me a new start--a do-over. My past life, at least that part of my past life, had basically ceased to exist. It was almost as if my life began anew with Jackie and the kids. It was a good life. I never had a reason to revisit my old life.

"It was her, Babe," I said quietly into the phone. "And apparently it wasn't pretty toward the end. And she blamed me for everything."

"That's nonsense, Hon, and you know it," Jackie said in a tone both firm and loving. "She made her choices. She set you free. I scooped you up, and I'm never letting you go. And when you get back here, I'm going to wrap these legs around you for hours and show you just how much you belong to me."

******

When I walked in the door at home, Jackie practically crushed my ribcage with the hug she gave me. I knew she was going to make good on her promise that she would wrap her legs around me for hours. She surprised me, though, when she took me over to her nightstand and opened a drawer, pulling out an old photo that had small pieces of cowhide stuck to the back side. The front side showed a younger me with my arm around my then-girlfriend, who later became my fiancée before she caused me to break the engagement.